... because tonight is inventory, my sixth inventory for the big evil corporation that I work for. It's an 8pm to 4:30 am shift that is rough, hardcore, sweaty, and altogether insaine. Its even worse now that I've stopped smoking. It's something that not everybody can do. It's physically demanding. You run around the entire store helping everybody and finding out book information and the price of some shitty doll that you didn't even know your store even carried. It's madness and I'm somehow really good at it, despite the fact that every year I don't want to do it and avoid it like the fucking plague.
But it's tonight. All night tonight. And I so-o-o don't want to do this. But I'm in charge of the children's section so I have to. It's something that I used to be really good at, this all night thing. I used to be better at it back when I was single and a drinker and immensely depressed. Now that I'm married with two kids and a mortgage and a minivan, shit, my bedtime is 10:45 pm. I can't do this shit.
So I'm in full Rocky montage mode. I took a benedrunk last night and woke up this morning at 12:30 in the afternoon. I haven't done that since oh-2wo. I'm hopped up on coffee. I've done a shitload of pushups and situps. I've invented a new game called "Bela Says." I put Bela in her Bela jump (some people call it a johnny jump and I rebuke those people) and whatever she does, you have to do. It can often times lead to ten straight minutes of jumping and screaming but it's still damn good cardio.
I've even got my iPod playing the Team America song "Montage" so I'm ready to go. Ready to run around not knowing what the fuck I'm doing for the sixth time. Ready to kick ass. Ready to fight whatever immigrant redneck fuckholes they throw at me this year. I'm ready.
For those of you who have not yet experienced the horrors of a major inventory, and I envy you people, inventory for a major bookstore goes like this ... at around 9 pm, a gang of about 100 ignorant white trash bastards, whores, old people, immigrants, angry punkers and dirty ex-convicts who can't seem to land a normal job come in and scan every book on our shelves while we, the brave few, look over their shoulders and make sure they don't fuck with us or skip over books or altogether screw over our entire store. It's massive, madness, crazy, frightening, intimidating, and altogether completely fucked up in the head.
But this year it's personal.
You see, every year one of these shifty ass inventory people does something to me that pisses me the fuck off for the rest of the year AND YET I don't say anything about for fear of confrontation. God, last year's incident still burns in my brain. Last year some old lady had a book that she couldn't scan and I told her that the ISBN was on the book and that she should just force it in, the standard answer. Well, she looked at me like I just lit one of my own farts on fire, scoffed at me, and then began hitting the buttons comically hard, saying "Welllll, I don't know what you want me to do because I'm hitting these buttons as hard as I can, here, SIR!" I then told her that it wasn't MY job to tell her how to do HER job and said that I was going to go talk to her manager when some immigrant chica came along, said "Nonono, ees okae, ees okae" and told her how to do it.
I regret not walking off right then and there and registering a formal complaint about that crusty old bitch. But I decided against it. And I shouldn't have done that. So this year I'm adopting a war battle attitude in regards to inventory. It's war, people! Us versus them, black against white, rich against poor, the blue and the gray. I am going to be as hard as a rock and not let these escaped convicts fuck with me and my kids section.